


Kiss My Mouth Through Thorns

by Elleth



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drabble Sequence, F/F, Light Bondage, Magic-Users, Mentor/Protégé, Mild Blood, Nature, Power Dynamics, Power Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:00:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25527838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elleth/pseuds/Elleth
Summary: Melian finds herself besotted with her student.
Relationships: Galadriel | Artanis/Melian
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17
Collections: Every Woman 2020





	Kiss My Mouth Through Thorns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kimaracretak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimaracretak/gifts).



Power doesn't simply burn through Galadriel. It sparks, it drips, it runs like Tree sap through her veins. 

Like blood. Like flowers.

I want her from the first, this child of the Blessed Realm, so proud, all her untapped potential. I want her, as a student, as a lover, as _mine_ in all ways. 

It is a mistake that I am not the first to make. I spend the nights after her arrival scattered into nightingales, trying to quell these thoughts, and reach for that song from beyond the world in me, asking why I am so tested. 

*

The music swells around Galadriel when she approaches me. I am still answerless, so I answer that pull instead, trusting in the wisdom that has taught me that even should darkness come from this, darkness has its own place and reason. 

She petitions me.

Upon my throne, her confidence takes my breath away. Before her I am rendered utterly bound to my shape, in ways that not even Thingol, not even my Lúthien, could. My lungs burn, and I exhale in a long-slow-measured sigh. 

"We will take you as Our student." 

The smile that blossoms from her is the Mingling.

*

We walk beyond the Girdle in the north. 

Galadriel stands radiant on the edge of Nan Dungortheb in sword and armour, and hears the darkness skitter and click like spiders, sees shadows against the moon, and lifts her chin in defiance when I would have expected her to cower. Even her, who braved the Ice and led her people to this shore. 

She does not. There is so much pride in her. Too much, so that it verges on foolishness. What else can I expect, I ask myself, from those who came to Beleriand swearing revenge on the Great Enemy? 

*

We walk back into my realm, into the Girdle itself, where Ungoliant's magics and mine clash in mist and wild growths. I have Galadriel strip herself bare in a clearing of leafless brambles. I have her kneel in the thorns to wrap around her wrists and ankles like bizarre bracelets to carve into her skin if she moves. 

I will them into continuing to grow while she is there, until it seems she may have unlearned.

I return a night later to find her statue-still in her bondage, brambles covered in a riot of spring leaves and flowers, and smiling. 

*

I sit with her in her prison, although it is one that she has made her own. Her hair hangs long and loose and silver-gold about her shoulders, and everywhere, like a crown of stars, the bramble-flowers weave themselves through it.

"What have you learned?" I ask. I am asking, truly, whether I shall keep her, or, for all her raw power, dismiss her from my tutelage. 

In the brambles she leans forward, and blood beads over her so-far-unbroken skin. 

She kisses my mouth through the thorns, and says against my lips: "Through love, I can be queen of anything. Even you."


End file.
